Time after time
by julyisfree
Summary: From the begining to the end how Claire let the monster embrace her. Sequel to Burn it to ashes, previous to One.


**Summary:** From the begining to the end how Claire let the monster embrace her. Sequel to _Burn it to ashes_, pre sequel to _One_.

**Warnings:** tragic, sad, creepy Sylar is creepy and translated from the original in Spanish, so like always read carefully.

**_A/N: I felt like I need it to explain a little more how things led to One so I decided to write this_**

**Edit: this is now beta'ed for the lovely Purple_Lex :D**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Heroes.

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><p><em>The first time it happened, she woke up alarmed.<em>

She had been turning over in her restless sleep; it was difficult to dream these days. When she felt _something_, it was subtle but there was no mistake. A light touch on her hair, a caress. Her breathing was ragged and her pulse was racing as she woke. She scanned the dark room looking but not knowing for what exactly.

"Claire what´s going on?" Her roommate, Gretchen, asked. Her brown hair was a mess as she emerged from between the sheets of the bed across the room.

"I felt as if _someone_ had touched me."

Gretchen looked around and saw no one. Yet stranger things happened around Claire. "You think it could be _Becky_?"

It had been a while since the skirmish with the _invisible girl_, a long time since Claire had last seen her, but nevertheless she got up and went to the door. Better to be careful. "Well the door is _locked_, so she could hardly enter."

Gretchen sighed, adjusted her pillow, and lay down again. Everything was probably part of a _dream_ as Claire had been more nervous and anxious these days, highlighting the paranoid attitude she already had. The brunette just wanted all of that to disappear along with the exam´s period; it was becoming unbearable to be near the blonde. "Then go to sleep. We have to get up early; have a test tomorrow, don´t you remember?"

Claire touched her hair cautiously and for a minute she stood there, thinking. Could the stress make her _imagine_ those things? Shaking her head, she returned to bed but it took hours until she fell asleep again.

The next morning, when they were awakened by the knocking on the door of one of their fellow students and not by the alarm in the clock, Claire couldn´t say that she had removed the batteries from it because the ticking was so _loud_, so instead she said that she would change the "broken" one for a _digital_one.

""""""""""""

_The second time it happened was on national television._

It was the _fourth_ interview she had scheduled for the day. She was tired, hungry, and her feet were swollen from being in high heels all day. But when the camera was on, she smiled as if nothing bothered her, because she _knew_ the world needed to trust her. It was a shame they had to get that confidence from someone as broken as she was.

"You've probably already done this a hundred times, but would you _mind_ giving us a demonstration?"

Of course she would care - blood stains were hard to clean and all that - but she _couldn´t_ say no; she was the _indestructible girl_, as someone had called her and that title came with _certain_ obligations. "Of course not. Do you have something to...?"

There was already a person bringing a large _butcher knife_. The fascination with the grotesque those days knew no bounds.

She then proceeded to take the knife, sliding and cutting her flesh easily without even blinking; an act she already knew how to perform by heart. Claire pondered on how incredibly twisted it was that something like this could become routine, but then again she _wasn´t _like any others; she was _special_. A small smile formed on her lips. The skin closed as if nothing had happened.

"You know, it _never_ ceases to amaze me." Right there in her ear slipping like silk, drowned out to anyone but her in the clamor of the people, she heard a voice and not any voice. It was _his_. The knife fell to the floor with a "bang" and people in the study noticed it.

"Miss Bennet, are you okay?"

Claire didn´t even hear the hostess talk over the loud pulse of her own heart. With uncoordinated movements, she searched among the public that were in the set, in the sea of faces that were staring with growing attention towards her. He _wasn´t_ there but the warmth of his breath on her neck still was.

"Miss Bennet?" The hostess tried again, this time with success as the blonde came to herself with big and doleful eyes. "Is everything alright?"

Claire swallowed the uneasy feeling and put on that pretty but _false_ smile which she was used to give. "Everything is fine."

The woman looked at her with suspicion, doubting her word but for the sake of her show, she went on as if nothing had happened. "Okay, people that was _Claire Bennet_ with us."

Claire wasn´t surprised when the calls asking for interviews _stopped_ after that. They moved on with some other special that was a little more emotionally stable. Somehow, she was _relieved._

_""""""""""""_

_The third time, she saw him._

There was a party at her school, one that Gretchen wanted to go, but the problem was that Claire _didn´t_. She had been on edge since the incident with the interview, always looking for _him_now. Logic told her that it _couldn´t_ be true since he had died, but there was a _force_ within her that dictated otherwise. So she stayed in her room all day, waiting for some kind of sign; of which, she had no idea. But Gretchen wouldn´t accept _no_for an answer so she agreed to go, even if it was just for a couple of minutes.

So Claire was now sitting in front of her mirror - Gretchen was already out because she wanted to get there earlier - applying layer after layer of mascara onto her eyelashes and wondering what she could do to make the evening pass more quickly.

"Have I ever mentioned that what I like most about you, are your _eyes_?" It sounded from behind her and she met his gaze in the mirror. His _intense_ eyes fixed on her. Claire couldn´t speak; she _wouldn´t_. "They are a _forest green_ most of the time, but when you look at me like you're doing right now, they become a _rabid green._"

She _slowly_ turned in her seat, facing him completely. She needed to know that it wasn´t just a voice and a pair of eyes, that it wasn´t a conspiracy of _her _imagination. The room temperature plummeted. He was there in all his _dark _glory. Taking two steps back he sat on her bed, looking around. He seemed a _little_ lost.

Claire was mesmerized. _He_ was there. But she had seen his body burn to ashes; _how_ was that possible?

"Claire I forgot my phone... what's going on here?" Gretchen said as soon as she felt the cold air around her. It was like a freezer in there and Claire sat motionless, staring intently at a point with her mouth half open.

"Gretch, _Sylar_ is here!" Claire was pointing in the direction of her bed.

"Where?"

All she could see were a couple of pillows, which _hardly_ made the shape of a human being. Claire couldn´t _understand;_ he was there but he _refused_ to say a word to prove his existence. "He is _there_! Sylar, _say_ something!"

Gretchen sighed. She was tired of the stupid _obsession_ that Claire seemed to have for the guy. Even after his death, she would talk endlessly about him and the things he had done to her; sometimes she even said _his _name while sleeping. That was the main reason she wanted Claire to attend the party: to forget a little and have fun. But apparently _that _seemed impossible.

"If he is here, Claire, then please _invite him_ to the party so maybe that way you will go, too."

Claire sat speechless in her seat, looking from the door where Gretchen was leaving and back to Sylar, who wasn´t there anymore. She didn´t go to the party after that.

She also didn´t _complain_ when Gretchen moved out to another room. It was _better _this way.

""""""""""""

_The fourth time it happened, she talked with him._

_Sylar. _The name itself was strong enough to induce blind fear among those who said it. Others would say it feeling relief, knowing his plight. A very small group would say his name with respect, knowing that the man had died a _hero_. Claire could not be typecast in _any _of these groups.

Claire was resting on her side, facing one of the walls of her room. When she said _his_ name, a bittersweet taste flooded her mouth.

For the longest time she had been _frightened _of him; it had been the time when everyone seemed to want to save her. Then, when he finally got what he wanted from her, she had been _angry_, full of _hatred _towards him. A hatred that only grew as he continued taking away all that she held firmly in her heart. Then he appeared at her school asking for - _what? Help? Understanding?_ He had seemed completely _different _from what she knew and ultimately she was left with _confusion _and a broken window to deal with.

After the Ferris wheel, things didn´t look clearer to her as he began to act like a _hero_, proclaiming that he had changed because of a nightmare or something like that. He began acting like a man concerned for others, interested in the opinions that others had of him, and particularly interested in what _she_ had to say about it. The confusion only grew more and she had begun to avoid visiting her uncle because since they seemed to be friends, the man was there most of the time and she _couldn´t_ bear his intense gaze. That worked for a while until that _day; t_he day _everything_ changed, the day he had saved her at the expense of _his_ own life and had confessed the _reason_ of such tremendous offering.

Something monumental had happened _between_ them and Claire had not been fast enough or wise enough to stop _it_ until it had happened.

Mourning the day of his cremation had been the first sign that _something_ wasn´t quite right. Could it be that finally her last ounce of _sanity_ was gone? Maybe Gretchen was right and now she was having hallucinations. It certainly could be true. Claire was apparently the _only_ one who could see him. As he had said once, she was indestructible _except_ for a broken heart. All that self-destruction inflicted had to show in some way; in her case it was not with broken flesh but instead _breaking_ the fabric of her reality could be an option. After all, no person can live without...

"What are you thinking?"

Plain and simple, _he_ was there again. She stiffened and did not move. Should she give in to the product of her own imagination and see how far her mind would play tricks? "_Scars_..." The word escaped her lips without her full consent. The air was cold and minutes passed. She wasn´t waiting for an answer, really.

"It's funny you could think of something like that Claire, considering you are _unable_ to have one, unlike the rest of _us_."

She let out the breath of air that until then she didn´t know was holding. So not only could she hear and see but she could also talk with him? She really was crazier every minute and her mind was a master of deception. But the hallucination had said it had _scars._ Claire was aware of this? If she took a moment to think about it, she didn't know many details regarding the personal life of Sylar. She decided to test how _far_ her mind would go to fill the things she didn´t know. "_You_ have scars? How is that possible?"

He laughed and it shook Claire. "Claire, I haven´t _always_had your ability. To be honest, I have a collection of them; I was _stabbed_, _shot_, _beaten_, _dissected_ by your father..." He left the sentence hanging in the air. Well at least this hallucination - product of her imagination - sounded something _like_ him. She took it as a challenge.

"Do you have one you can show me?"

Steps were heard in the vicinity of her current resting place and suddenly Claire _wasn´t_ so sure about this. She felt _someone_ kneeling behind her and a _hand_ appeared in her line of sight.

Claire didn´t dare move.

"My little finger," he said in the neighborhood of her neck, moving the digit in front of her face. She was mesmerized, her heart beating madly, as she saw the little scar on his skin. It seemed so _real._

"What happened?"

Warm breath was bathing her ear in a rather large contrast with the air of the room that seemed to have dropped 10 degrees. Claire closed her eyes, a shiver traveling her body from head to toe. "Let's just say that _not _everyone had the perfect family that _you_ had."

It was too real, she thought and turned quickly but she found herself _alone _in the room and out of breath.

She wasn´t so sure now. This couldn´t be _simply _madness.

""""""""""""

_The fifth time, she touched him._

Claire needed information.

That was all that was on her mind those days. How could she not know the details involving the life of the one who had come to _know her_ so deeply? The only person in this world who had seen her inner demons; _literally_. But then again, he had been a _shadow_ on her life, a body without a soul and remorse. She had only begun to see him as something a bit more than that in his last moments and after that, there was no need to investigate more.

Of course, stealing the records of the company that her father so jealously kept had been the first thing she did, but at best they spoke of technical data and things she already knew. Like the fact he was _adopted_ or that had possessed _psychopathic tendencies_. His name was what caught her attention the most as she recalled one day when Peter had told her that he had invited _Gabriel _to dinner and she had set confused eyes on him, to which Peter had answered, _"I had forgotten that you don´t know the man by that name. Gabriel Gray is Sylar's real name."_

_Peter._

If anyone in this world knew something about Sylar, then it had to be him.

So Claire had left the campus - the college no longer retained her attention these days - and had traveled to New York, hoping to learn more about the man behind the monster and see if she really had such a fanciful imagination or was a medium or something.

"Hey long time no see!" Peter called as soon as he saw her sitting in the little cafe that they had agreed to be at hours before. He looked almost like the last time she had seen him during his engagement party with Emma, wearing that _smile _characteristic of a man in love. She remembered well that day because it had been the last time she saw Sylar before the attack.

Claire tried to smile but for the moment she _couldn´t_ do it so in the end it truly came out more like a grimace. "Well you know with school and all..." She tried to justify her lack of enthusiasm, blaming it on the studies in the same way she did when her parents called to ask how she was doing.

"Well I'm also guilty. With the wedding preparations, I haven´t had much time on my hands either..." Peter mistook her somber mood as guilt for not being able to call lately and tried to balance things out between them.

She revealed in the _candor_ of his person, the brightness of his eyes and when Peter came to embrace her, she didn´t protest but neither did she put much effort into it, felling awkward. "I've missed you, Peter." The words were there, but they floated without much _meaning _out of her mouth and her arms felt like dead weight around him; it was a mechanical movement. She _couldn´t_ find comfort in Peter´s embrace.

"Me too, Claire."

After that the two sat at the table. If Peter noticed something strange in her behavior, he said nothing about it; perhaps Claire had become too good at pretending for someone else to notice. They chatted pleasantly for a few minutes. Peter told her that Angela was driving Emma crazy with the arrangements for the wedding and on more than one occasion he had to act as an intermediary between the two, which would have made her laugh like crazy, if not for the little disposition she had to do it. As the evening passed, the empath began to notice that _something _was troubling her.

"You haven´t said much, Claire what's going on?"

Claire stopped halfway in her task of moving her coffee cup up to her lips and hesitated. How should she explain what was plaguing her head _without_ looking nuts? At least not to Peter; she could act all crazy-like in her own intimate moments, when she had her own privacy.

"Lately, I've been having _dreams_ of Sylar and that made me think: the guy saved my life but I don´t know _anything_ about him. So, I thought you could tell me the most important details..."

It was more or less the truth, minus the part where dreams were actually more like _hallucinations._ She didn´t dare to make eye contact but Peter put his hand on hers and that made her look up. "I always _knew_ this day would come sooner or later. It makes me proud that you are starting to _forgive_ Gabriel. What do you want to know?"

Claire ignored the part of Peter's statement where he said she was forgiving Sylar and decided to say nothing about it. It wasn´t something she was _prepared_ to do now, she just wanted to know if she was going crazy or not, so she whispered shakily, "Tell me _everything._"

And he did. Peter told her everything he had learned from the man during his forced confinement in the trapped nightmare of Parkman's and everything he had learned working closely with him while saving lives after the carnival. Claire listened attentively during his monologue and came to three conclusions in the end. One, she _wasn´t_ crazy because Sylar had owned _wounds_ on his hands and according to Peter, it had been caused by the strict discipline of his mother _Virginia_. Two, Sylar´s life had been _horrible_, full of suffering and pain and she wasn´t sure how she felt now knowing the truth about the enigmatic Gabriel Gray; a part of her felt _hate_, like she always had feel, but another part, a new one, felt bad and actually _pitied_ him. Three, if it wasn´t a hallucination, then what was it? Was she seeing _ghosts _now?

Claire would have preferred the blissful _ignorance_ that comes with madness then. Peter left her in her stunned silence. It was better if she processed the information alone. Eventually, Claire left the coffee shop too, walking on autopilot to the hotel where she was staying. There were too many things on her mind for her to have noticed the sudden change in neither temperature, nor the man sitting on her bed.

"You look _lost..._"

She had been in the process of putting her coat on the back of the chair, when she heard _him._Gasping in surprise, she dropped the article of clothing on the floor and took a few steps back. Now that she knew what he was, she was _guarded _against him.

He rose from the bed, _hurt _by her sudden change of attitude towards him. "Claire, you shouldn´t be _afraid_ of me. I will not hurt you."

Claire felt the pain in his voice and couldn´t help but look up and see him in the eye. He seemed _sad_**_,_**_ pathetic; _nothing like the Sylar she had known and more than ever he was the Gabriel Peter had portrayed. She felt pity for him again. "I have no fear of you," she said hesitantly. It was cold. She trembled and placed her arms around herself for warmth.

He was right next to her in seconds. She wouldn´t look at him. "So why are you _trembling_?"

She wanted to laugh hysterically. Here she was shaking like a leaf in a darkened hotel room, talking with the _ghost_ of the man that had plagued her _nightmares_ for so long, and yet she _couldn´t_ say that the cause of her tremor was _fear_. "Because it's _cold_."

Sylar searched for her left hand and she tensed, waiting for the chilled sensation of his fingers on her skin; but the feeling never came. It was _warm_. Sylar then rested her hand on his chest, holding it there. She couldn´t help looking at his eyes then. Brown and green met for a moment and they remained undisturbed, frozen in time for the world around them. Sylar closed the distance between them but stopped inches from her face. He blinked twice and his eyes opened in realization. "Then you can have my _bleeding heart_."

Blood began to flow from their hands clasped together. He coughed and fell to the floor. Claire stood motionless, looking at her red hand. When she left her state of shock, he was _gone._

_""""""""""""""_

_Ghosts._

The idea seemed preposterous, yet in a world where people could fly, stop time and move objects with their minds, you couldn´t afford to be skeptical.

But what did she _really_ know about these things?

If Claire was being honest with herself, she didn´t know much. Not that she had had the need to know about the subject in the past. But now, with the ghost of her tormentor following her around, well she _needed _knowledge.

So Claire visited bookstores in search of literature about the subject, being quite surprised when she found a lot of sources to choose from. It seemed she wasn´t the _only_ one to believe these things. In the end, she chose several titles on parapsychology, esoteric, and occultism. That she wasn´t the only one to believe those things didn´t mean that _everyone_ believed the same and sooner than later she began to feel like an idiot when people gave her strange looks, so she quickly finished the transaction in the bookstore and retired to the privacy of her hotel room. Once there, she read and _oh man _did she read a lot. Hours passed and coffee cups came and went. It was midnight when she decided she had enough information.

There were _many_ theories on the subject but it seemed there were points where they all agreed. Like, for example, the fact that the spirits weren´t _aware_ of its own supernatural nature, they _couldn´t_ ascend to a higher level of existence because they felt _guilty _about something, they were emotionally _attached_ to someone, they felt hatred or bitterness about _themselves_ or felt that they _deserved_ to be nowhere and that they were _connected_ to a person who could help them address their problems.

_Shit._

Claire _would never_ be separated from the presence of Sylar if she had to help him with his many problems. On the other hand, there were some writers who postulated that one could get rid of the spirit if the remains were burned, but Sylar had been cremated so that possibility was going down the toilet fast. The only viable alternative would be to find an object or something that the subject had held during his life and _destroy_ it. She was desperate and at this stage any chance was good. So Claire did what she thought would _never _do in her life: she got the address of Sylar´s apartment and went there. Posing as a woman interested in renting the place, she asked to see the apartment and the manager happily conceded. He warned her that the things from the previous tenant had not been moved and she internally sighed in relief and said she had no problem with that. The man excuse himself soon after and left her to observe the place.

"Well I _wasn´t_ expecting this." It was the first thing that came out of her mouth as she entered. In fact Claire wasn´t sure what she would find there, but _this_ was the last thing on a long list of possibilities.

Everything looked so _normal_. The place was small. It had a modest kitchen to the left along with a table, an armchair and a coffee table occupying the other side of the room and there was a hallway with two doors facing each other: one leading to a bathroom and the other appeared to be to the bedroom. The whole room seemed immaculately tidy although it had been months since the owner had ceased to came here. Perhaps Emma or Peter came from time to time and cleaned. There was nothing there except for several watches, tools, and some books that lay on the table near the kitchen and Claire wondered if this had been how he occupied his time; sitting at the table _fixing clocks_ or _reading_ on the couch. He had not even owned a TV. Claire ran a hand over the table´s surface and moved into the hallway, opening the door she supposed led into his room.

She wasn´t surprised when she found even more _books_ carefully placed on shelves all over the walls. It seemed his favorite hobby had been reading. She flipped through some of the titles; mostly scientific and technical texts. The room, in proportion to the rest of the place, was quite large and had a neatly made bed in the center. She moved slowly and sat on it. The quilt was simple in its design and soft to the touch as she absently ran her hand over it. Something caught her attention and she took the object that rested there. It was another _clock_, but unlike the others, this showed signs of abuse and the glass was broken. It seemed out of character for someone so dedicated to watches. That's when she saw it: the inscription on the watch´s face that identified himself as _Sylar_. _So this little object had been the trigger of such terrible fate,_ she thought, recalling all the things that he had done in its name. _If_ anything could be considered an intrinsic part of him, this watch had to be it.

Opening her purse, she pulled out a hammer that she had saved to make destroying something easier and proceeded to sit on the floor, placing the clock beside her on the ground. Raising the tool in the air, she prepared herself to strike. Finally all this would end; the _cold_, the _creepy _phrases, the _unexpected _visits, the _blood_, the _warm_ touch of his hands, the _devotion_ in his eyes whenever he looked at her. She stopped.

_This was all wrong._

The Caresses on her hair were not because he wanted to cause _harm;_ they were because she was having nightmares and he just wanted to make them _disappear._

His voice during the interview was not because he wanted to cause _problems;_ it was because he knew she was tired of that and he wanted to _support_ her.

The visit in her bedroom was not because he wanted to _scare_ her, but because he knew that she wouldn´t go to that party but _didn´t_ _know_how to tell Gretchen.

The talk of the scars was simply to help her to _understand _everything.

The touch of her hand was to provide the comfort that she _couldn´t_ find in anyone else.

All those times it _wasn´t _Sylar who tried to make contact with her; it was she who _needed_ him unconsciously.

She needed Sylar because without him, _Claire Bennet_ would never have become the person she was in first place. Because without him, she was _alone_.

The hammer fell with a "clap" and a sob broke from the depths of her soul, reverberating in the room.

"Shhh." Strong arms enveloped her and she let them, crying for every night that she hadn´t done it before. She buried her face in his chest and found the solace that no _other_ could offer; because here, in the arms of her monster, she felt _safe_. And if hugging Sylar after his death in the room he had occupied made her look crazy, then so be it.

Later, the manager was very happy to know that Claire would rent the apartment.

_The sixth time she accepted him; after that she stopped counting._


End file.
